


Bleach Blond Hair

by thesnicken



Series: e/R being cute and domestic [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, or at least as close to fluff as i can write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 00:23:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1367125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesnicken/pseuds/thesnicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Enjolras enjoy a lazy night in bed until Grantaire says something he didn't mean to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleach Blond Hair

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot came to me in a dream and then I wrote it in H.E so enjoy.

They flew in and out of conscience together. Just them. Not worried that someone might disturb them cause Jehan was at his bi-annual trip to his parent’s so they had Grantaire’s flat to themselves.

Enjolras’ hair had been released from its usual bun and lay in curling tendrils on the pillow. Grantaire was pressed against him. The left side of his hair had been cemented to his face by both his sweat from his forehead and from leaning against Enjolras.

In one of the moments in which they found themselves more awake than slumbered, they began to talk.

It had been this way for over a month now. They both silently acknowledged that they were dating exclusively, but still refused to say so. Everyone else followed their lead. Neither of them had mentioned this new stage in their relationship to anyone and the way they acted around each other hadn’t changed outside of their solitude of two they collapsed into at night. Yet everyone just knew. It was just that no one really gave a shit.

These talks at three am where what had formed the structure of their relationship. Sometimes, they were philosophical and usually ended in one of them falling asleep and the other questioning his existence. On other nights--like this one--they were lighter hearted.

“You should wear your hair down sometimes.” Grantaire commented as he pulled at one of the locks in question.

“It looks unprofessional.” Enjolras stated, while focusing more on Grantaire’s eyes. He searched for the exact word to describe their blue-green-hazel mix up. It was clear that Enjolras wasn’t very interested in the conversation. Grantaire didn’t mind.

“Well if it’s unprofessional, then why don’t you just cut it off?”

“Because, I enjoy breaking gender stereotypes with my long and fair hair.”

“Yeah sure, but back to the unprofessional thing,” Grantaire said, eager to get Enjolras off the subject of gender rolls because god knows, when he starts, he doesn’t stop. “You’re not looking at the perks of letting your sun soaked, flurry tousled, yellow blond hair out of its bun shaped bounds. You could totally seduce your opponents with one hair flick so magnificent it would make Beyoncé weep with jealousy, even if your hair is bleached."

“My hair is not bleached!” Enjolras shrieked at him. Grantaire scoffed at him.

“Please,” He said. “Both of your parents have hair as dark as mine. Plus I’ve seen pictures of your grandparents and so did they so don’t go telling me you’re a throwback or something.” Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Besides,” Grantaire continued, sitting up in the bed now. “I worked in a salon for three years during high school, I know bleached hair when I see it.”

“Ugh, I hate you sometimes.” The (dyed) blond replied.

“Awh,” Grantaire mocked. “I love you too. And don’t worry, I won’t tell-“

“What did you just say?” Enjolras was suddenly sitting up, pulling the hair Grantaire had just been holding and taking it from his grasp.

He very quickly thought over what he had just said. Enjolras hadn’t sworn, which he always did when he was pissed, so whatever Grantaire had just done, it couldn’t be too bad. Or perhaps, whatever Grantaire had said was so colossally bad that Enjolras couldn’t even find the ability to throw a “fuck” in there.

And then he realised.

“Did I-did I just say ‘I love you’?” Enjolras nodded. “Oh. Shit.”

“It’s okay,” Enjolras blurted. “I mean, I doesn’t matter. I get that you were only joking.” He looked up. His eyes fluttered and caught with R’s which caused him to quickly bow his head once more. “It’s fine,” he added, in a whisper. He sat awkwardly for a second before stumbling for a hair bobble from the bed side table and rather hastily pulling his hair into the messiest of all mess buns. He sat again and then mumbled something before lying down and pretending to sleep.

As all this happened, Grantaire had remained completely still. He realised with a start that he had to say something. Words failed him, a common occurrence whenever Enjolras was in sight. He mumbled a beginning, but when he noticed Enjolras’ shoulder tense at Grantaire’s noise, he stopped.

Then started again.

“I wasn’t joking, Apollo.” Enjolras tensed further. “I love you.” They both exhaled deeply in unison. Enjolras turned around and took his hair down again.

“Can you say it again?” He asked. Grantaire lay down on his side and pressed his mouth against Enjolras’ cheek.

“I love you. I’m only sorry I told you this way.” Enjolras laughed under his breath. “I mean, I’ve been fantasising about this moment for years, you’d think when I finally say it to your face, I’d at least arrange, I don’t know, like a romantic picnic or get some flowers or shit. Yeah, flowers, I should of gone for that and used that whole language pf flowers sit to find one which says ‘I love you’ or something.”

“Grantaire, shut up. I love you too.” 

“You do?” Enjolras blushed. Grantaire wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him blush before, unless it was in ‘revolutionary fever’ as Courfeyrac would say.

“Yeah, of course. It took me a while, but yeah, I love you.” Grantaire was afraid he was about to cry, but he was wrong. Instead, the biggest shit eating grin spread across his face.


End file.
